Karma Receivable
by Alien Explosion
Summary: [one shot] 1996. Claude Rains makes a bet with Mr. Bennet. But a certain teenage watchmaker ruins the odds.


_Note: I only became a soccer fan after last summer's World Cup, which means that any soccer and Manchester United references are things I've found on the ever-truthful Wikipedia. If you find an error, please let me know! It would be much obliged. Oh, and title is in reference to the term 'Accounts Receivable,' because I'm an accounting major and this is why I'm hot.  
_

**Karma Receivable**

_June, 1996_

New York City was Claude's favorite for several reasons. One was that it was a pickpocket's Candyland. And most of the candy was succulent. Sure, Claude already had a very nice high paying job with the Company, but he always had to engage in the thrill whenever he was in town. Served no purpose if you couldn't hone your skill, really.

The other reason was that New York had pubs. Real pubs. Pubs that had taps full of Guinness, true painted screaming hooligans, and televisions showing Manchester United games. And after this week, which had included four particularly difficult bag-and-tags, Claude was looking forward to downing a mug and seeing Ferguson and his boys dominate once again.

"What d'you mean we can't go?"

"Sorry, Claude," said Bennet, "but I have to watch the kids on Sunday. One of Sandra's college friends is passing through town, she's going to be out with her all day."

Now that was just damn inconsiderate. Claude had been going on about the game for the whole week, and Bennet had decided to choose _now_ as the appropriate time to burst his bubble. Damn rude, it was.

Bennet, on the other hand, wasn't particularly pleased about it either. It wasn't as if he _didn't_ enjoy fraternizing with Claude; truth be told he preferred the irate Brit to his three year-old son at the moment. And when he and Claude hung out, he actually learned a few things about the game of soccer. Like the reasoning (or "fucking ridiculous logic," according to Claude) of why penalty kicks were used to settle drawn games. Bennet was actually more into this technical aspect, but he found it wasn't a good topic of conversation in bars full of screaming soccer hooligans.

"Come on," Claude was saying, "we can still watch, catch the red-eye flight, and you'd be back bright and early to watch little Claire and Lyle."

"I've been running on three hours of sleep every night this week," Bennet complained. "I intend to hit the bed right after this assignment, Claude."

"So hit the bed after the game. I'll watch the kids. Invisible men don't sleep."

"Right, and let you watch my kids while hung over from that damn soccer game? I'll pass."

"What makes you think I wasn't hung over the last time I visited?" He grinned. But at Bennet's angry look, he quickly added, "Kidding, kidding. But honestly man, I have to watch that game, it's the rematch with Chelsea!"

"You ever heard of cable?"

"A real hooligan only watches cable at a real pub," he said matter-of-factly.

Their argument went along as such for a while, until they arrived a few blocks away from their target's house. At that point, both men were all business. Levity was fine, but for them as agents, nothing ever got in the way. Especially today, on a day that Thompson had abruptly and suddenly gave them an assignment originally given to two other agents, currently indisposed with another difficult case of their own.

Claude pulled out the file as Bennet pulled the rental car into an alleyway. "Right, so it's a Mrs. Loraine Gray. Possible aquatic elemental, she shoots water out of her little pinky. Homemaker, husband to Mr. Roger Gray, a watchmaker." He chuckled at this. Such an old-world specialty, it was a little odd to find someone today who actually took up that profession. "…Erm, the father's on a fishing trip for the weekend with their three sons."

"Anything else?" asked Bennet.

"Nope. Guess we can run our usual bag-and-tag, eh?"

"I guess so…"

Claude picked up on the reluctance instantly. "What's wrong? Thought you wanted an easy one?"

"No, it's just…we've run the same damn strategy all week, and it hasn't exactly been very _efficient_ each time."

"Hey, that morphing bloke had a damn temper, not our fault."

"I should note that I wasn't in the room."

Claude's brow furrowed suspiciously. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you used the word 'our' incorrectly," replied Bennet, unafraid of his partner's temper.

"You think you could've done a better job with that guy?"

"I'm not saying that at all. I'm just getting a little bored with the current game plan."

"I believe that's your way of saying, 'I could've done a much better job even though I'm not a bloody invisible man.'"

"I never said that."

"It's not a word-for-word translation, I don't have the Pocket Dictionary of Bennet on me. Look, if you're getting bored with the tactics, why don't you run em yourself? Bag the bloody housewife all by your lonesome. Go on then."

Bennet stared at him incredulously. "…You're serious."

"I am! I'll make a wager on it, even."

"I'm not going to bet on an assignment."

"Come on, just a friendly wager. Look, if I'm right and you can't nab the housewife on your own, we're watching the game tomorrow, and you're buying drinks. Three rounds."

"Fine," he said, actually game for one of Claude's proposals. "And if I don't need your help?"

"In that case…pick a day to take Sandra out on a little date, and I'll watch over Claire and Lyle. I'll even throw in sobriety for free."

Bennet considered this a long moment. "You've got a deal. I'm doing this on my own."

"I've still got to be in the room, you know," Claude pointed out, "to clean up just in case you _do_ screw up."

"Fine, but do so at my signal only."

* * *

The door opened, and there stood Mrs. Loraine Gray. She did not exemplify her husband's surname. 

"Yes?" she asked, her high soft voice emphasizing her welcoming smile.

"Mrs. Gray, I assume?" Bennet asked, extending his hand and donning his own 'ask me about paper!' grin. "Landon Dempsey, US Census Bureau. Ma'am, would you have some time to spare to answer a survey for Uncle Sam?"

"Oh, the Census? Already? Goodness, it seems like you all are doing this so early!"

"It's really just preliminary research, Mrs. Gray. We actually start a lot of our actual surveying next year, but we do go door-to-door in a few neighborhoods to try out new survey forms first, mostly for readability, clarity, conciseness, you get the idea. Anything to make sure the survey is efficient, you see."

Mrs. Gray looked terribly impressed. She had seemed like the kind of naive woman who marveled at any type of polished influence, and Bennet had pinned her right on the mark. "So you'd like me to help you make your surveys better for next year?"

"If you'd be kind enough to lend us your time, yes ma'am."

"Of course I would! And you're in luck, I just made some cookies. But is…is it a very long survey? I have some dishes to wash, and errands to go run-"

"—You won't even know where the time went," Bennet smiled earnestly.

* * *

He soon found himself in a living room that somehow managed to be homely and depressing at the same time. On the walls were the useless knick-knacks that homemakers always seemed to have such an unrequited adoration for: porcelain flower vases, framed portraits of nameless forests, the mandatory metallic abstract what-the-hell on the mantle. 

This living room, already tiny because it was in New York, seemed so much more cramped because of all the antiques. And it occurred to Bennet that his wife was already starting to collect these things, slowly but surely. The only problem was that Sandra had a thing for dogs, too.

God, his house was going to look like a damn dog art gallery in ten years.

While he took out the "surveys" from his briefcase, Mrs. Gray fetched the cookies and some lemonade from the kitchen. Carefully Bennet took out the sedative tablets and pocketed them, making sure to chuckle audibly as Mrs. Gray made some inane comment to him about her lemonade.

He heard a screen door shut in the kitchen. "Gabe!" Mrs. Gray was saying to someone. "How was the library, sweetie?"

Shit.

"It was fine, mother." Replied a sullen teenager's voice. "I'll be upstairs." And he heard slow footsteps ascend.

"But honey, don't you want any cookies or lemonade? I'm getting some for our guest!" She received an unintelligible mutter in response.

"Uh, Mrs. Gray, could I use your restroom?" Bennet asked, his hand rapping three times on the coffee table.

"Of course, Mr. Dempsey, down the hall, to your right."

Bennet got up quickly, shaking his head regretfully.

And he had been really looking forward to that date alone with Sandra.

* * *

He found the bathroom, opened the door wide, and then entered, locking it behind him. 

"I knew it!" Claude laughed, materializing next to the sink. "Not even two minutes in and already I've won my wager! Sometimes you really can over-estimate your superiority complex, friend."

"Fine, I don't care about that," said Bennet, dropping his voice, "we've got a problem now. One of her sons is still here."

"And what do you want me to do about it?"

"He's upstairs right now, make sure he doesn't leave his room."

Claude frowned. "Hold on a sec, didn't I just win this bet? Just why am I still babysitting?"

"You're not babysitting, he's in high school. Look, I just need you to keep him there for the next fifteen minutes. You don't even need to talk to him, just…hold the door shut or something."

"You are aware we can't hide the fact that we're, you know, nabbing this kid's mum."

"That will be handled." Claude's thoughts immediately went to the Haitian teenager back at Primatech. "You just take care of the kid," Bennet continued.

Claude sighed. "Fine. But you're singing 'God Save the Queen' once Manchester wins."

"Don't push it," Bennet snapped, clearly irritated at having lost that one. He crossed over to the door. "Let's go. After fifteen minutes, you-"

"-Aren't you forgetting something?"

"…What?"

"Well you ask to go to the bathroom, she'd find it a bit odd if you didn't…"

Exasperated, Bennet walked over and flushed the toilet. "Now go upstairs and-"

"—Good god, man, at least have some hygienic manners. This _is_ New York, you know."

Now staring daggers at Claude, Bennet turned on the sink for 10 seconds, and shut it off. "I'm poisoning your goddamn beer tomorrow." He muttered, opening the door for him.

"Looking forward to it," Claude replied, disappearing as he exited the bathroom.

* * *

Claude stepped back a bit in the hallway, and saw his partner's face transform from annoyance to easy smugness again, all within the span of a split second. 

"You have such a quaint little house, Mrs. Gray," he was saying. "_Very_ homely!"

Claude smirked. Bennet could be a manipulative little prat sometimes. Bit creepy, too. Especially today. He was still trying to work out what crank of a woman would ever allow anyone acting as iffy as he was into her house.

He crept upstairs slowly, glancing at the pictures on the walls. It looked like a normal enough family. There were a few school certificates on the walls, but only one shiny A Honor Roll award, for Gabriel Gray. Hm. The alliteratively named nerd.

Honestly, Claude thought, parents don't know how to look out for their children anymore.

There was a clicking noise coming from the door down the hall. The door was slightly ajar. He peeked in.

Gabriel Gray was a tall, wiry teen, sporting hair parted perfectly to the side and a neatly ironed button down shirt. The kid was hunched over a mass of springs and gears, alternating his attention between that and the book he had borrowed. Claude hated to say it, but the boy was a walking stereotype, to the T. This wasn't going to be difficult. Fifteen minutes and he was out. Having forgotten his watch that day, he inched in further into the room, looking around for a clock.

He found at least thirty.

The sight actually unsettled Claude a little; he was used to finding porno magazines in a teenage boy's room, not a blasted mad scientist's workbench.

It got annoying after a while though. Because out of all the antiques up on the boy's wall, there was only one he could hear ticking. …And there it was. A Sylar-made mechanical clock sitting on the desk, displaying 9:53 prominently on its face. So Claude decided on 10:05.

"Mom?"

Claude froze. Gabriel was staring directly at him.

* * *

"It must be kind of a painstaking job, isn't it?" Mrs. Gray was asking. "Collecting all of that survey information from everyone in the country?" 

"Yes, I've found that it takes quite a bit of dedication, ma'am."

"It's very admirable work."

"Well, thank you very much for the compliment." Bennet smiled, finishing a cookie. "Uh, shall we continue? …Okay then. Number of people in your family?"

"Hm, five. My husband and I, and our three sons."

"My, they must be a bit of a handful," he marveled.

"Oh, not at all. I've always considered my three boys as a blessing. And even though they're all different, there's something to love about each one. Like Gabe, upstairs. He's shy, but he's incredibly studious."

"You must be very proud."

"I am," she replied, a fond look passing over her face. "Do you have children? You seem like you might."

"Uh, two," he answered as he wrote something down. "Son and a daughter."

"Ooh, a daughter! And she must be a joy!"

Bennet responded with a late chuckle. "Certainly. Er…number of pets?"

"Oh none. I can't have dogs or cats in the house, they'd ruin my petunias."

"You mean those beautiful ones I saw out in front?"

"Yes. Would you like to see my roses out back? They're very big now."

He ignored the offer. "As I understand, it's a bit dry out in New York for flowers to be fully blooming in this weather. You must spend a fortune on your water bill."

"Oh, we…we manage," she said, clearly uncomfortable with lying. Anxious, she took a sip of lemonade.

"I think you manage very well," Bennet said. "In fact, I'll bet…I'll bet you have a green thumb, right Mrs. Gray? You can grow beautiful plants very well. I'll bet that's what makes you…_special_."

At this point, Bennet couldn't help but say that. That was just the way he operated. Claude often accused him of having a morbid personality, whenever he went terrorizing targets just a little. Bennet liked to think of it more as a dark sense of humor.

"…It's the soil mixture, I think," Mrs. Gray said, her welcoming demeanor dropping. "Some kind of organic stuff, it's really…quite something."

"Oh, but I'm sure you add a little extra magic to the mix yourself, hm? …What's wrong? You don't want to be special, Mrs. Gray? It seems like the thought alarms you."

"I…I don't know…what you're…" a noticeable drowsiness appeared in her eyes, and she put her fingers up to her temples.

"I think you are a bit anxious at the moment." Bennet said, unmoving. "Do you need to lie down, Mrs. Gray?"

"You don't…understand, I…I'm not…"

She staggered forward in her seat, but Bennet caught her, gently settling her back in the armchair, dozing.

He grinned. This was always too much fun.

So he got off on the bag-and-tag just a little. But it really didn't matter. As long as they weren't going to remember, there was nothing to rectify in the universe, since no harm was truly done.

* * *

Gabriel hadn't seen Claude, thank god. The boy got up and walked over to the door, looking a little annoyed at the disruption. Claude sidled back into the hall as he opened the door, looking outside his room. "Mom, something going on?" 

Don't make this difficult, Claude thought irritably. Finally Gabriel gave up, withdrawing back into the room. Claude let out a barely audible sigh.

As soon as he had done so, Gabriel spun around again. "Who's there? Mom?"

There was no other choice. The boy already perceived him. Claude knew. One of his other students was the same way. Based on his own research, he had determined it to be a rare mini-trait, the amplified power perception.

And now he was obligated to check Gabriel. Raising his foot, Claude delivered a kick to the boy's chest, knocking him back into the room.

Gabriel landed flat on the floor, his glasses falling off under the bed. Scrambling, he fumbled about for them, Claude taking the opportunity to materialize unnoticed. When Gabriel put his glasses back on, there was a grinning man standing in front of him.

"You're far too perceptive for a lad your age," he told the nervous Gabriel, figuring it was a good a greeting as any. "Still, an admirable quality."

"Who are you?" Gabriel asked, a breathless fascination resonating in his voice.

"Ghost of Christmas cheer?" He grinned.

"It's…June…" the boy said, still staring at Claude with anxious curiosity.

"So it is. Are you special, Gabriel?"

It was odd how absent utter fear was from this boy's face. The only thing present was a strange exhilaration flashing in his eyes. "What…what do you mean?"

"Well, you know how to fix clocks and make A's. Anything else that's notable?"

"Are you…are you trying to tell me there is? Some-something else, I mean? What is it?"

Now _that_ was a peculiar answer. Whenever he used that question on a recent manifestee, they'd always reply in more or less the same manner. Outright horrified denial or outright horrified awe. This boy clearly didn't have anything, at least not yet, but it was peculiar, nonetheless.

Claude kneeled next to the boy, kindly taking the glasses off of his face. "I guess we'll find out sooner or later, eh?" And before Gabriel could react, Claude knocked him out cold with one punch.

"Sorry lad," he told the unconscious form. "If I've made you bleed, just leave it to karma, eh?"

* * *

Claude came ambling downstairs, entering the kitchen. He found a note on the counter: 

_Went to pick up groceries. Be back soon! —Mom_

He grinned. One of Bennet's multiple talents was forgery. He was very useful, no doubt.

"I think she's a hearts sort of person," Claude told his partner as he saw him enter the kitchen. "You might want to add some at the end, personalize it a bit."

Bennet ignored the remark. "How's the kid?"

"Unconscious."

He frowned. "What, did he manifest and ask you for a free lesson?"

"Nah, I just thought he needed a nap. Looked a bit peaky. Still, if he is anything like his mum, I don't think he's manifested yet. He just tinkers with those damn clocks all day. Bit nerdy, I think. You might like him."

"Not if he's costing me sleep and three rounds of beer," he muttered with a sigh.

"Four," Claude corrected, slapping his partner on the back jovially. "I'll need it before I watch over Claire and Lyle next Friday."

Relieved, Bennet smiled, the genuine kind this time.

**The End. **


End file.
